


How Desperate Are You

by Ropewithnoanchor



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: I have no idea where this came from, M/M, Masturbation, Maybe someone will find this hot too, Piss Play, Totally out of my element, water sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ropewithnoanchor/pseuds/Ropewithnoanchor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis doesn't take Harry's advice to use the bathroom before they hit the road, and he pays for it later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Desperate Are You

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you get inspired by the strangest things... This is usually not my kink, but I felt like trying something new.

“C’mon, we’re going to be late!”

Louis chugs tea, the sugar at the bottom rushing into his mouth on the last sip. He sucks on the sweetness as he runs a bit of water into the mug and then abandons it in the sink. Harry can’t blame him for not putting it in the dishwasher if he’s the one rushing him, right?

“Coming, I’m coming,” he calls back, grabbing his army green jacket from off the back of a kitchen chair and jamming a pair of trainers on his feet. He snags a bottle of water from the fridge to rinse the sugar off his teeth, uncapping it as he jogs to meet Harry at the front door. “Did you put our bags in the car?”

“Yes. And _you’re_ the one who told your mum we’d be there by six,” Harry reminds him, twirling his set of keys around his finger and giving Louis a calculating look. He’s wearing tight black jeans (Louis wonders why someone would willingly choose to _drive_ in _jeans_ ), a worn white t-shirt, and a green beanie over his curls that are still damp from the shower. “It’s already four.”

“Only takes an hour and forty-five,” Louis says, taking a few sips of water and slipping his wallet into the pocket of his black Adidas joggers. “Did you know that Range Rovers are actually equipped to do more than 80 kilometers per hour?”  
Harry snorts, pinching Louis’s bum on their way outside. “And did _you_ know how much a speeding penalty can cost on the M62?”

“Probably less than those jeans you’re wearing,” Louis points out, skipping away from Harry’s outstretched hand and leaving him to look up their front door. They meet at the black Range Rover parked in their driveway, and Louis climbs into the passenger seat, taking another drink from his water bottle.

“Did you use the loo?” Harry asks, getting into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

Louis glances down at the half-empty water bottle in his hand as the seat beneath him vibrates with the purr of the engine. “Er, no,” he admits. “But I’ll be fine.”

“You had two cups of tea and all that water,” Harry says, his left hand paused on the gearshift. “Run inside and have a wee.”

Louis glares at him and buckles his seatbelt defiantly. “I’ll be fine, _mum_ ,” he snaps, sticking his water in the cup holder. “Just drive already.”

Harry pauses, giving Louis one last chance to change his mind and go inside, before shrugging and throwing the SUV into gear.

It only takes the few minutes drive from their place in Holmes Chapel to the M62 for Louis to start feeling the pressure in his lower stomach. _Fuck_ , he thinks, fidgeting on his seat, his joggers sliding on the leather. He glances over at Harry, watching the younger boy shift the car as he accelerates onto the motorway.

_This is all Harry’s fault,_ Louis thinks. If Harry hadn’t mentioned having a wee, it wouldn’t be on Louis’s mind at all. He scrunches up his toes inside his shoes, trying to think of someway to distract himself.

Fishing out his phone, Louis tries checking football scores to take his mind off things. It works for about ten minutes, as does Twitter for another fifteen, and even the weather app keeps him occupied for five. But after a half hour, he finds the harder he tries not to think about his bladder, the more the pressure increases.

“Haz,” he says, clearing his throat and speaking louder so Harry can hear him over the sound of Miley Cyrus coming out of the Meridian speakers. “Hazza.”

Harry lowers the volume with a few clicks of a button on the steering wheel. “What? Did Jay text you? It’s barely half four, we’re not late yet.”

“No, no, no,” Louis assures him. He tucks one leg under his bum to stop it from shaking. “I, um, can you pull over?”

Harry takes his eyes off of the road briefly to flash Louis a confused look. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just…” Louis chews his lip, not wanting to admit that he should’ve listened to Harry about having a wee before they left. “Need the loo, y’know.”

Realization dawns over Harry’s face, and then his features crease into a smirk. “Oh yeah?” he asks, and undeniably teasing note to his voice.

“ _Yes_ ,” Louis whines, bouncing on the leg he’s sitting on and drumming his fingers against his phone screen. “Come on, pull over, I’ll be quick.”

“Dunno,” Harry muses, letting up on the accelerator so the Range Rover cruises at a leisurely pace, just beneath the speed limit. “Not sure there’s anywhere to stop around here. And we don’t want to be late. Think you’ll just have to hold it.”

“Harry, it’s not funny!” Louis yells, his patience already snapping. “We’ve still got more than an hour to go!” An hour is an eternity; he can’t even make it through half of their concerts without having to leave stage to have a wee.

Harry doesn’t answer, the smirk on his face doing all the talking. Louis knocks his skull back against the headrest with a groan, squeezing his knees together and gripping his thighs. The water in the bottle next to him sloshes around when Harry drives over a pothole, the sound and the bump making Louis’s bladder scream.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry asks, “Are you desperate?”

Louis’s head snaps to the right, fixing Harry with an icy glare “What do _you_ think?”

They both fall quiet again, tension hanging thick in the air. Another ten or so minutes pass, with Louis growing more and uncomfortable, before he blurts out, “Pull over already! You’ve had your fun.”

Harry just chuckles and shakes his head, fiddling with the radio.

“C’mon, it’s not funny anymore. I should’ve gone before we left, you were right. M’sorry, just-just please pull over. C’mon, before I piss all over the Rover.”

Without taking his eyes off the road, Harry’s hand leaves the gearshift and reaches over to stroke along Louis’s stomach. His fingers push the fabric of Louis’s t-shirt up so he can touch bare skin. Louis shivers, pressing his spine back against the seat but having nowhere to go.

“H-Harry,” he stutters out when Harry’s hand pushes down lightly over his bellybutton. It’s too high to make his situation worse, but he knows what Harry is insinuating. “Why…?”

“Do it,” Harry says, his voice a low rumble.

Louis trembles as Harry’s hand moves lower on his stomach. “D-do what?”

“Do it,” Harry repeats. “Piss all over the Rover.”

Louis chokes on his words as Harry pushes down on the soft spot of his lower stomach, pressing against his full bladder, the sensation so strong it’s almost painful. Louis cries out, his knee slamming against the dashboard as he jerks in his seat.

“M’gonna,” he warns, still convinced Harry must be joking. “Jesus, fuck, keep doing that and I’m fucking ruin this car.”

“So ruin it,” Harry replies, his voice terrifyingly steady. “Just let go, babe.”

Louis shakes his head violently, grabbing onto Harry’s fingers and trying to wrench them away from his stomach. He can’t believe this is happening. Sure, he and Harry have a very… _colorful_ sex life, and maybe they’ve peed on each other in the shower once or twice, but this is too much.

He doesn’t realize Harry’s pulled over until he hears the crunch of gravel under their tires and rhythmic clicking of the hazard lights flashing on and off. Harry puts the car in park and unbuckles his seatbelt, leaning over to kiss Louis on the lips.

“It’s okay,” he assures him between kisses licking into Louis’s slack mouth. “You’re okay.”

“Please,” Louis begs, his head spinning. His left hand scrabbles at the door, trying to find the handle. The seatbelt keeps him locked in place, though, and Louis can’t seem to remember how to unlock the doors in this god forsaken high tech car. He’s going to wee whether he likes it or not if he doesn’t get outside _right fucking now_.

“Do it,” Harry says again before sealing their lips and pressing down hard on Louis’s lower stomach.

Louis groans into his mouth, a tiny bit escaping him from the pressure of Harry’s hand. His heels jam into the carpeted floor, his thighs snapping shut as he desperately tries to stop the flow and hold it in, panting against Harry’s lip.

“Just let go,” Harry orders, grabbing one of Louis’s knees with his free hand and wrenching his thighs apart before pushing down even harder on his bladder.

The immediate sensation gives Louis a head rush, too fuzzy to realize the wetness or the warmth, too full of pleasure to feel embarrassed. Harry’s mouth swallows down all of his whimpers and moans, kissing him hotly as he pisses himself inside the black Range Rover.

Louis’s panting by the time it’s over, slumped in the seat as Harry kneels up on his own and rips open the flies of his jeans. He watches through heavily lidded eyes as Harry gets a hand on himself and starts stroking violently, his back turned to all the cars speeding by on the M62. It only takes a few minutes and a loud shout before Harry paints Louis’s sopping wet joggers with stripes of white.

“Fuck, Lou,” Harry huffs, squeezing the last drop from his cock before tucking himself away. “That was so hot, fuck.”

The tiny burst of pride helps keep the embarrassment away just a little bit longer. Louis feels boneless, like he’s the one who just came rather than the one’s who just pissed himself. Harry’s cheeks are the same pink as his lips as he settles back into his seat and buckles up, turning the hazards off and signaling to merge back onto the motorway.

Louis slowly comes to his senses as they rejoin the traffic, straightening up and feeling the horrible sensation of wet joggers clinging to his crotch and thighs, the soaked leather creaking beneath him. “What—Harry, no,” he pleads weakly. “Let me grab some fresh clothes from the boot, c’mon.”

Harry smiles; he can’t seem to stop glancing over at Louis every five seconds even though he’s driving way faster than he normally does. “No way,” he says. “You look so hot like that.”

“I’m covered in piss and come,” Louis points out, rolling down the window a crack.

“You can change at your mum’s house,” Harry says, biting his lip as his eyes flicked toward Louis’s crotch.

“I can’t go into my mum’s house like this!” Louis cries, debating on trying to wriggle out the soiled joggers now but hating the idea of sitting bare-assed on the wet leather seats even more. “Shit, what’s gotten _into_ you.”

Harry just grins toothily at him, turning Miley back on and taking the exit for the A1. “I’ll make you a deal,” he announces. “We’ll be at your house in about…twenty minutes. If you can come before then, I’ll pull over so you can change. Okay?”

Louis just stares at him, wondering just where in the hell _this_ Harry came from. The challenge makes him feel kind of hot, though, despite how disgusting he feels, and he determinedly tucks the waistband of his ruined joggers under his balls.

“There we go,” Harry murmurs, trying so hard to simultaneously drive and watch.

His cock feels funny, slick with piss and kind of sticky, so Louis spits into his palm before he starts stroking. Using his free hand, he reclines his seat a little to get more comfortable, feeling wetness seep down his calves.

“Fuck, anyone could look over and see you right now,” Harry says, intentionally ignoring how darkly tinted the Rover’s windows are. “Anyone could see you wanking off in my passenger seat, covered in your own piss.”

Louis groans, heat rising in his cheeks at the same time that it gathers low in his belly, his strokes speeding up. There are so many distractions—the cars speeding by, Miley yelling from the speakers, his family waiting for him in Donny, the wee on his legs starting to make him itchy—but he pushes that all away, focusing instead on how debauched Harry looked when he came across the seats all over him, how sexy Harry’s voice sounds now as he humiliates him, how good it felt before to just _let go_.

He bites down on his lip with a grunt as he starts to come, white seed spurting up and then dripping down over his hand. He can distantly hear Harry’s noises of approval as he comes down from his high, his itchy thighs twitching with aftershocks.

“God,” is all he can manage to say as he slides down low in the seat, still breathing hard. He wipes his hand off on his joggers as Harry pulls off the motorway and into a neighborhood, finding an isolated street to park on.

“You did so well, baby,” Harry whispers, leaning over to kiss him. “Hang on, I’ll go grab you some clothes.”

As Harry gets out of the car and walks around to the trunk to get to Louis’s suitcase, Louis sighs. As hot as that all was, now he’s starting to feel gross. The smell is strong without the air rushing through the windows, and the piss is making his pubic hair itch like mad. Changing into clean clothes will help, but the seat will be still soaked, and his skin will still be coated in it. He wonders if they’ll ever truly be able to get it all out of the leather.

Harry comes around his side, smiling brightly, helping Louis out of the car. Louis glances around to make sure nobody is around to see him—or worse, photograph him—in piss- and come-covered joggers, but he safely gets into the backseat without being seen. He shimmies out of the wet material before it can stain the backseat, too, jamming it under the front seat until he can find somewhere to throw it out.

Harry uses the cloth he keeps in the boot to clean the windows to mop up some of the piss from the passenger seat before it sinks into the leather forever. Louis slides the pair of clean, grey joggers on, immediately thankful for the feeling of dry fabric against his skin—even though he’s dying for a shower to wash it all away.

He catches Harry chuckling to himself as he gets into the driver’s seat and pulls back onto the road.

“What’s so funny?” Louis demands, feeling ridiculous in the backseat but sprawling out across it regardless. He feels absolutely drained now, letting his eyes fall closed for the remainder of the drive.

“Maybe we’ll keep the wee activities to the shower from now on,” Harry says, and Louis can hear the smile in his voice. “Dunno how I’m going to explain that one when I take the car in to get cleaned.”

Louis’s cheeks heat up, but he laughs, too. “That’s your problem,” he declares, since Harry had instigated this whole thing anyway. “Don’t think you’ll ever be pissing in the Porsche, that’s all I can say.”


End file.
